


Of Inappropriate Awakenings

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, PWP, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His instinct, the origin of which he probably shouldnt dwell on, was to wake her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Inappropriate Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy smut (smuff!) inspired by [Of Inappropriate Announcements](http://fid-gin.livejournal.com/65112.html), by fid_gin, (who was also my fabulous beta!). Fid_gin's fic also inspired [Of Inappropriate Timing](http://requialexa.livejournal.com/41655.html#cutid1) by Requialexa, written for me for my birthday. This one is for hers. Can be read as a standalone. Written in 2009

“You don’t usually take me to places like this, Doctor,” she said, raising her voice over the music and tugging on the very… slight outfit the TARDIS had indicated was appropriate for this adventure.

“What, parties?” he said, taking a sip from his drink and eyeing the crowd. “We go to lots of parties.”

“Not ones with so much skin on display.” She wasn’t bothered, not really; she was only curious as to why they’d ended up here. “Is an alien going to invade? Something going to explode?”

He turned to her and grinned. “Maxim7, Rose. Nothing but parties, mostly. And this one, celebrating the rule of their new queen, and the printing of the 17 millionth issue, is the party of the century. Drinks, music, dancing, and toasts! Lots of toasts. I love a good toast.”

She grinned back, catching his enthusiasm. “No running, then?” she asked, taking a deep drink from the bubbly beverage in her own hand, loving the warmth that suffused her.

“Maybe later. For now, just dancing.” He gave a little nudge to the small of her back, and she had to stifle a gasp at the contact of his hand on the bare skin not covered by the tiny top. She stumbled a bit. “Go on,” he urged.

She looked longingly at the writhing throng of dancers, felt the pull of the driving bass rhythm. She then turned the same longing look on the Doctor when it was clear he wasn’t intending on joining her.

“Dance with me?” she pouted, tugging on his free hand.

He raised an eyebrow at her, but only slightly, as he seemed to consider, not allowing her to pull him from where his feet were planted. Deciding, he let go of the hand he'd been holding and plucked the glass from her other.

“Maybe later,” he repeated, and a shiver went through her despite the heat of the room, and her own rising flush.

She turned away, calling “Your loss!” over her shoulder as she lost herself in the crowd.

* * *

The ‘slow dance’, which in Rose’s time was reserved mostly for the first dance at weddings or sleepy, drunken ends of parties, waned and waxed in popularity throughout human history. At official celebrations on Maxim7 in 4025, it was regimented. For every fourteen songs meant for gyrating, hip-swinging, and speeding up heartbeats, there was one meant for holding your partner close and swaying to a gentle melody. And maybe speeding up hearts for a different reason.

He’d seen the cycle repeat twice already since Rose had begun dancing. Twice, he’d watched her dance the fifteenth dance with blokes that had caught her eye. Other men took her into their arms as he chatted with Maxim’s high society, sampled their nibbles and their refreshing effervescent wine, and pretended not to be entirely focused on Rose and roaming hands that were not his.

It was the fourteenth song again. Rose looked exhausted, but she smiled brilliantly at him when their eyes met across the room. She gave no indication that she was ready to pack it in yet. Quite the opposite. She mouthed, _it’s later_ to him, and called him to her with a crook of her finger.

He protested in pantomime, but she widened her eyes in entreaty–or maybe demand–and he gave in. He swallowed the last of his wine and set the glass down determinedly on a nearby table before stalking through the crowd. The music was just transitioning as he reached her, and she stared a moment, as if she was dead surprised to see him standing there. After only that small hesitation, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“Having fun?” he said into her ear, as he wrapped his arms around her back and began to lead her in the steps.

“Yeah. More now.”

“Tired?” he asked as she rested her head against his chest.

“Nope.” She looked up at him and grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief behind her heavy mascara.

A staggering, unexpected flash of want went through him, and he nearly fumbled the simple steps. He was almost grateful when she lowered her head again. He breathed deeply, and when she tightened her arms, he responded in kind.

“’S is nice,” she said into his suit after a while, running her hands along his back as they swayed. It was nice, very nice–holding Rose, moving with her, now in perfect sync. He fancied he could feel her touch on his skin, through the layers of fabric between them. He couldn’t really, but bless this planet’s penchant for being scantily clad, he could do that to her.

Tentatively, he lifted his hands from where they were perched on her back, safely still, and ran them slowly over her skin.

“That’s nice too,” she murmured, and drew herself even closer, her hips, belly, breasts crushed against him.

He swallowed, focusing on keeping his body from an inappropriate reaction. He imagined right now Rose might not mind, but this was hardly the place to grab her bum and grind against her. He blinked at the vividness–the vulgarity–of the thought.

“You all right?”

“Um,” he squeaked, before clearing his throat. “Rose, do you think, maybe we could go back to the TARDIS?”

“Tired?” she asked, that same glint in her eyes.

“Nope.”

\- - -

“You were right! Party of the century,” Rose practically cooed at him as they pushed through the door when they finally made it back to the TARDIS, an hour later. Rose had insisted on a few more dances to the faster music, and he’d retreated from the dance floor, but it had been even more difficult to keep his eyes off her after their dance.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” she said low, in a tone that sent a dangerous thrill through him. “Even if just for one song.” She stepped up on her toes and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before falling back on her feet.

“My absolute pleasure, Rose.” And it really had been. An excuse to hold Rose that close, pressing himself against her, safely in public? He didn’t know why he’d waited until nearly the end of the party; only that once he touched so much of her skin, he found he hadn’t really wanted to stop touching her.

“Come on,” she said, giving his hand a tug and pulling him towards the ship’s interior. “Tell me more about this planet. I think it might be a new favourite.”

He allowed himself to be moved this time, quite willingly, not even pausing to reprimand her for kicking off her heels in the console room.

He wasn’t quite sure why Rose had brought them to his room, but he found he didn’t much care as she pushed him on to the bed and then fell against him in an instant cuddle, her body pressed against his, curled into his side. He swallowed and inhaled deeply, loving being surrounded by the scent of Rose. Perfume and bubbly wine and the salt of her skin. He ran a hand down the warm bare skin of her back and she sighed contentedly against him.

“So talk,” she prodded, running her foot along his calf.

“Right, yes!” he said. “Maxim7. Colonized by humans in the 37th century, on the seventh expedition funded by the Maxim Conglomerate, which by that time had assumed so much power that…”

Another soft sigh escaped her and he looked down at the heap of blond waves on his chest. He gave her a gentle shake. “Rose?” She’d fallen asleep. “You’re all talk,” he said to her softly. “Deny me the chance to give a good lecture? Well, just for that I’m going to… lie here, very still so as not to wake you.”

He did just that, content only to hold her close for now. Though he had been almost certain that she… Resigned, he pushed aside any disappointment. If it wasn’t meant to happen tonight, then that was fine. He was nothing if not patient.

About an hour and a half later, he found that his patience was, in fact, thoroughly tried. Rose had gone from lying still against him, to throwing a leg over his so that she’d been more than half atop him, moving restlessly in her sleep. He’d hardened embarrassingly quickly at just that pressure between his legs, but then she’d rolled completely off him, to lie flat on her back beside him.

He clenched his fists, bit his lip, stared at the ceiling for answers. He could still feel the warmth of her skin on him, and the soft press of her thigh against his wasn’t helping him come to any decisions. His instinct, the origin of which he probably shouldn’t dwell on, was to wake her. To touch more of her, kiss her, press her into the mattress and do–

He should get up. He should make tea, a sandwich, fix the stabilisation coils that were on the fritz. He should let her sleep. He positively should not roll onto his side and run his hand gently over the skin of her belly, exposed between her barely-there top and short skirt. But that was exactly what he was doing, before he’d even fully formulated the thought that he shouldn’t.

“Rose,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

* * *

His voice drifted into her consciousness, pulling her slowly from her sleep. But it wasn’t just that, was it? No, he was touching her. Oh she must be dreaming, she thought, as arousal shot through her. His hand was rubbing slow circles over her stomach, lightly, just trailing his fingers, sliding over more of her skin with each pass. She didn’t want to open her eyes, for this to stop, even as she became more aware that it was no dream at all.

His fingers were playing over her hips, over the thin fabric of her skirt, when he spoke again, a low whisper. “You awake?”

Though his breath came warm against her neck, it was like the vibrations of it went straight to her centre, and the words stuck in her throat.

“Rose?” he asked in the same soft, resonating rumble, lips almost kissing just under her ear.

She forced herself to make an affirmative noise, as she felt herself grow warmer and wet.

“Good.” His touch become firmer, less of a gentle tickle, more of a bold caress.

Her hips rose before she could stop them, and having gone this far, she breathed out his name, letting her legs fall open, granting him access to wherever he wanted to touch her.

She heard his sharp intake of breath, but he took the hint readily and slowly pulled up the material of her skirt. She gripped the sheets of his bed tightly as his fingers slid over the scant material of her knickers and she bit back a moan. She tried to control her quick breaths, the rapid beat of her heart, while he continued his slow torture, back and forth, never enough pressure or friction. Her hips bucked again and his fingers finally slid under the drenched fabric to touch her directly. She couldn’t hold herself back anymore, her groan sounding far too loud in the quiet room where the only sounds had been their breathing and the hum of the ship.

At first he just caressed her, as if he was learning her. First over her coarse hair, then down over her swollen flesh, to flit teasingly at her entrance, gathering moisture. He pulled it back up through her slit and found her most sensitive spot, pressing lightly. She gasped in pleasure, and thus encouraged, he pressed more firmly, rubbing slow circles like he had on her belly, but much more concentrated. She was already so far gone, so quickly; this wasn’t going to take long at all.

He shifted, pressing his hips against her, and she could feel his erection against her thigh as he dropped hot kisses on her neck.

In the haze of growing sensation, she marvelled at those two bits of tantalising information. He was _kissing_ her. He was hard. He wanted her–as much as she suspected when he had finally taken her in his arms on the floor earlier. She felt powerful, she felt sexy, she felt–oh god, his fingers were so good.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her, and she was amazed at how just touching her could affect him so, but lost the thread of her thoughts as he stroked her clit faster, harder. “...Rose.”

The sound of her name, harsh and strained on his lips, was her undoing. She whimpered, lifting her hips in a helpless rhythm, straining towards his talented hand. Seconds later she came with a small cry, her muscles quivering as her heart raced in her ears.

Her hips fell back onto the bed as his fingers slowed, then stopped, then pulled away from her skin. All was still for a several long seconds before he kissed her shoulder and began to shift his body away from her. She stopped him with a hand on his hip and opened her eyes, turning towards him. His smile was plain even in the mostly-dark.

It faltered when she slid her hand between their bodies, cupping him through his trousers, then tracing the length of him.

“Rose, you don’t have–.” He gasped as she undid his clasp and zip and reached inside to touch him.

She murmured encouragingly to him, placing a moist kiss just below his Adam’s apple.

“Really, you shouldn’t...” he mumbled when she closed her fingers around him, but he made no move to stop her, only pushed his hips against her, driving his cock through her tight fist, again and again.

He gripped her shoulder, attempted to say something that sounded like her name, and then he tensed against her, squeezing his eyes shut. She continued to stroke him as he came, slowing down as he relaxed.

She withdrew her hand and looked at him. He looked a little less than pleased.

She frowned. “Was that not–?”

“It was perfect, but I... I wanted to make love to you.”

He whispered the last like it was a sordid secret. A thrill went through her, at odds with the warm, sleepy satiation settling in her limbs. She wanted him, but after dancing all night and then... everything else, she was fighting to keep her eyes open. And there was no reason to rush things now. She smiled at him tiredly and curled into his body again.

And just before she fell into what she knew would be a very deep slumber, she breathed out, “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

FIN  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=34164>


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